


They Just Keep Waiting

by lanri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, is that the right term?, k hanna korossy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6569722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanri/pseuds/lanri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's been trapped for days. If only Dean would find him. Parallel fic to K Hanna Korossy's They Just Stop Looking, from Sam's POV.</p><p>Her original fic: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4058290/1/They-Just-Stop-Looking</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Just Keep Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [They Just Stop Looking](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/190084) by K Hanna Korossy. 



> K Hanna Korossy is one of the reasons I got into writing fic for spn from the very beginning. They Just Stop Looking is one of my favorites, but I always wanted to see Sam's POV. So I asked and she said it would be okay if I gave it a shot! I am so nervous posting this; part of the appeal of writing fanfic is anonymity and no demands placed on quality, but since the original author will see this, it makes me very scared to post.
> 
> Anyway, if you haven't read They Just Stop Looking, then what are you doing here? Go read it!  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4058290/1/They-Just-Stop-Looking

Small towns weren’t Sam’s favorite, but they did have their charms. He smirked up at the boarding house, knowing what Dean was going to say before he opened his mouth.

“What kind of stupid town doesn’t have a motel,” Dean groused.

Point to Sam. He hid his grin, hefting his duffel out of the trunk. “C’mon, dude. I bet they have free breakfast. Homemade biscuits.”

Dean harrumphed but came along docilely enough as they checked in. There wasn’t a free breakfast, but the water was hot and the blankets were soft. Dean still grumbled, like he always did, but Sam sank into bed with a sigh, flicking open his laptop.

“Let’s get that erlking, huh?”

Dean groaned, stretching. “I protest. Breakfast first, then erlking.”

“Fine, fine.” Sam closed his laptop regretfully, shoving his feet back into his boots. “You pay though.”

“I always pay.”

The diner looked mostly clean and not too greasy, which was what Sam cared about. Dean craned his neck looking at the other tables to see how thick the bacon was, which was what he cared about.

“What makes you think erlking, anyway?” Dean asked.

Sam flicked open Dad’s journal, ignoring the bitter twist of his stomach at the sight of it. They hadn’t found Dad, and each day that passed made it seem a little more unlikely.

“Erlkings are fairy kings who tend to go after children. With the two attacks on kids, this town seems ripe for the picking.”

“Any history of fairy activity?”

“Not so much, but there’s a decent history of German descent in the area.” They fell silent as the waitress came up, a matronly looking woman with a wide smile.

“You boys ready to order?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll have the pancakes with a side of eggs, please,” Sam said. He didn’t miss Dean’s look of surprised pleasure that Sam ordered a decent amount of food.

“Aren’t you the sweetest,” the waitress said. “What about you, darling?”

Dean flashed his patented flirtatious grin in her direction. “I’ll have the special, with an extra side of bacon.”

“Coming right up.”

Sam shook his head. “Some day your arteries will hate you.”

Dean snorted, but thankfully didn’t bring up the lifespan of the typical hunter. Sam cleared his throat, going back to the research.

The waitress, who was named Tildy, seemed to take a shine to the two of them, offering them extra hashbrowns on the house. Dean not-so-subtly headed to the bathroom, giving Sam a chance to chat and get the local gossip. Tildy gushed on and on about their local attractions, but also managed to mention a local problem with wildlife. It wasn’t much, but she at least pointed them towards some of the rocks and crags where the attacks had taken place.

“Sorry, darling, I’ve got to steal Sam away,” Dean reappeared, ruffling Sam’s hair. “I’m sure we’ll see you ‘round.”

Tildy blushed and smiled effusively. “Don’t be strangers!”

Dean snorted as soon as they were out the door. “Get a load of the locals, eh?”

“I think it’s nice,” Sam said defensively.

Dean rolled his eyes. “You would.”

“Well, why don’t we go ahead and check it out, huh?”

Dean blinked, seeming surprised. Sam hadn’t been very gung-ho about their hunts lately. Sam offered a small smile to his brother. “You never know, we could finish this hunt in one day. Make it a record.”

Dean’s grin was wide. “Now you’re talking, Sammy.”

* * *

The distraction of a hunt was over before it had begun. Disgruntled, Sam stole first shower before Dean could. He ignored the thumping on the bathroom door and slid under the hot spray, sighing. A freaking rabid wolf. That was it. Days like this made it feel so pointless, running around the country, going after monsters.

“Hurry it up, Sammy! You aren’t the one who ended up splattered with wolf brains.”

Sam sighed again, stepping out. He didn’t miss the way Dean eyed him, the look he got after every hunt, wondering if Sam had had enough and would leave.

“I’ll grab us some food,” he offered.

“Try and charm us some free pie,” Dean said.

“Can’t you think of anything other than your stomach?”

The banter was weak, but it was enough. Sam left the room, smiling to himself as his long strides ate up the sidewalk.

“Excuse me.”

The shrill voice stopped him in his tracks. Sam turned, taking in the woman neutrally. She was a little older, kind of a stern type.

“May I help you?” he asked politely.

“I hurt my back a few weeks ago, and I’ve got some heavy groceries. Could you carry them for me?”

“Oh, of course.”

Sam shifted the grocery bags from her grip to his own. Bent over them, he was left completely unaware as a sharp blow slammed into the back of his skull. Sam fell, still conscious but limbs suddenly awkward and useless.

A second blow sent him into unconsciousness.

* * *

He had slept in again. Dean would probably wake him up by putting ice down his back if he didn’t get up soon.

Sam struggled to open his eyes. His mouth felt strangely dry. His head was pounding, which wasn’t odd—visions and sleeplessness made headaches pretty common.

There was dirt under his face. Sam jolted into awareness, scrabbling weakly against the ground before staring, dumbfounded, at the shackle around his wrist.

“You are tall. It made it difficult to get you here.”

Sam twisted around, his head throbbing at the quick movement. “Wha—?”

The woman from before was crouched nearby, knees of her crisp pantsuit barely brushing the red earth. She smiled unkindly.

“You are terrified, aren’t you?”

Sam bit back a groan, staring her down. “Christo.” When there was no reaction, he swallowed. “Who are you?”

“Call me Lily.”

“Why did you take me?” Sam asked.

She stood, one strand of dark hair falling out of her neat bun. “We will get to that, in time.”

Sam didn’t let the twist of fear in his gut show on his face. “In time?”

Her laugh was cruel. “I will see you . . . in a few days, I suppose.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Sam hissed. “My brother will find me and—“

Lily smiled and ignored him. Without saying another word, she turned and walked away, down to the other end of the cavern. Sam shouted after her, but then she was gone, and Sam was left alone.

Sam tried to tie together his throbbing brain enough to understand what had happened. The rabid wolf, the suspected erlking . . . that had been wrapped up. This was different. He didn’t remember reports of any disappearances. But the woman had obviously taken others.

He could’ve smacked himself in the head for being so dumb. His phone—he could call Dean.

Sliding his hand into his pockets, he rifled through them furiously. There were a few things; a few loose dollar bills, a pencil, but no phone. Sam toyed with the idea of using the pencil on his chain, but it snapped when he tried.

The terror that had been drumming through the back of his mind surged forward.

As a last-ditch effort, Sam drew as much air into his lungs as possible before bellowing for help. His voice echoed and dissipated.

“Dean will look for me,” Sam muttered to himself. He let his head fall gently to the ground. The throbbing pain hadn’t gone away; his kidnapper had hit him pretty solidly.

Somehow, despite his situation, Sam fell asleep.

* * *

He woke up in the dark. The thin light that he’d had before was completely gone, leaving him disoriented and terrified.

“Dean!” he called out before he remembered what had happened. Once he did, he forced himself to breathe. Sitting up, he slowly edged towards the wall, leaning against it. With his fingers, he followed the length of the chain to the wall, searching for a weakness. It was rusty, but only on the surface. Sam picked some of it away with his fingernails, finding only thick, solid metal underneath.

“Long shot,” he muttered to himself. His fingers trailed their way to the wall. The joint was bolted in, and as desperately as Sam pried at the edges, it didn’t move.

Sam drew his knees up, resting his head on his knees. Dean had to be going crazy by now. Sam imagined him waiting, counting down on the clock when Sam didn’t return with food, before cursing loudly and going over to the diner. He probably had terrified the ladies working there. Sam could picture it easily.

The thought sobered him. It had been somewhat easy to slip back into the routine and their old relationship, like he’d never left. But as much as Sam could imagine Dean’s initial reaction to his disappearance, he knew the second step would be Dean thinking he’d left, again.

Sam didn’t really have regrets about going to Stanford, except in getting Jessica killed, but what did make guilt edge up under his skin was how he’d left things with Dean.

The look on Dean’s face when he’d walked out that door to go to Stanford . . .

“No,” Sam muttered. He wouldn’t cause Dean to think he’d left him ever again.

Sam threw his entire body away from the wall; the shackle caught tight, digging unforgivingly into his wrist. It felt like he was pulling for minutes, while in reality it was probably only a few seconds.

Sam slumped despairingly. The chain hadn’t budged.

Eventually, he stood as much as he was able, and went in the half-circle allotted to him by the chain. At the very left, there was a small trickle of water from a drip on the ceiling. It was difficult, but Sam managed to scoop up enough to drink. It tasted strongly of minerals.

There was no way to know what Lily had imprisoned him for. She could leave him to die, torture him, or use him for some spell, if she was a witch like Sam suspected.

Sam intended to stay awake and figure out a way to get free, but somehow he fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Sam counted six days before his captor returned. He spent the time reviewing exorcisms, running through Latin conjugations, old laws and rulings, but eventually all of that paled in comparison to the pit in his stomach.

“I can smell your desperation,” she whispered.

Sam glared up at her weakly, unwilling to test his legs and his ability to stand.

“Ready to tell me what you want?” he challenged.

She smiled, dark eyes glittering. “What I want? I have what I want, son of Adam.” She went over to the other wall, striking a match and holding it to an ancient-looking lantern.

She had a basket on her arm. Sam’s breath caught in his throat as she opened it, revealing bread.

“Please,” he said before he could stop himself.

Her laugh was the pure delight of sadism. She tossed him the loaf, smirking as he snatched it close.

“Animals. You are all animals.”

Sam wasn’t even listening, too busy taking a bite of the bread. It was stale, but somehow the most delicious thing he’d eaten.

“How about we play a little game?” Lily asked.

Sam glared up at her. “Oh yeah?”

She delicately settled herself against the cavern wall. “Well, my other pets have lasted only certain lengths of time before snapping. If you answer my questions truthfully, I’ll continue to bring you food.”

Sam’s body was coiled and tight with apprehension. “Yeah, and I bet you’ve rigged the game.”

She shrugged, the shoulders of her suit bunching. “It isn’t like you really have a choice.”

“Fine, what’s the question?”

“What is the most important thing in the world to you?”

The question was startlingly personal. A few answers flitted through Sam’s mind; Jess, revenge, having a normal life . . . but it came back to one answer. Sam observed Lily carefully. She could be asking the question to find a weakness. But if Sam lied, and she knew it, she might not bring him food.

“My brother,” he said.

“Interesting, given that he’s abandoned you.” She stood, brushing dirt off of her pants. “I have a few days in court, so don’t expect me back for a while. I hope that bread lasts you.”

“Wait!”

Sam’s plea wasn’t enough—she was gone.

Was Dean gone? The thought shivered through him like ice. Sam pressed his forehead into the ground. No, Dean wouldn’t . . . he wouldn’t abandon Sam.

Court . . . either she had been speeding, or she was involved somehow. Maybe a judge, Sam wouldn’t put it past her to take her judgments out into her personal life. But why Sam? There was no connection, no reason for him to become her target.

Sam stared down at the bread in his hand. It had taken her six days to return before. How long before the bread would become inedible? Sam took three bites, bigger than he’d planned, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Save it,” he whispered. “I have to save it.”

He set it down, slowly. It was just bread. He had enough will power to resist eating. Dean was the one with the bottomless stomach, not him.

Sam’s stomach rumbled and cramped. He groaned, letting his head thud against his knees. He had to be strong, resist temptation.

It was only a few hours before he took another bite.

By the next day, the bread was gone.

* * *

The days oozed by, insidious in their unrelenting passage of time. It was all Sam could do to keep himself from going mad with hunger and the claustrophobia of his situation.

Sam had always been the hopeful one. Even when he’d been raging at his father’s rules or looking sadly at the burning corpse of a soul they hadn’t been able to save, he’d been able to hope; it was part of why he’d been able to get out and go to Stanford.

That piece of him was struggling, now. Sam’s prayers became desperate pleas to be saved from the dark. Jim’s old traditional prayers were comforting, but hardly enough; the prayer Sam was left with was a pathetic, human cry for help. Nothing more.

Something in Sam was receding, leaving him more animalistic than he’d felt before. Consistently, every few hours, he’d rhythmically tug at his shackle, despite knowing that it wouldn’t budge.

“Hello?”

The sound made Sam jolt out his doze, staring upwards.

“Dean?” he rasped. Coughing a little, he managed to half-shout his brother’s name again.

“Sammy!”

Dean cut through the dim light at the entranceway to Sam’s cavern, darting to his side.

“Dean, you came.” Sam’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t think you would.”

“Course I would, Sam, you know I’ll always save you.” Dean’s hands hovered over Sam, like he was unsure where to touch.

“Get me out,” Sam whispered. “Please.”

“Sammy . . .”

Dean’s tone was strange. Sam lifted his heavy head to stare at his brother. “Dean?”

“I’m sorry.”

Dean was gone. Sam shuddered with the loss, pressing his forehead into the ground.

“Beautiful.” Lily clapped. “Very good, man-child. Shall we play again?”

She had some kind of cooked chicken on a paper plate. Despite himself, Sam felt his mouth watering.

“You’re sick,” he said.

“Be that as it may, that betrayal you just felt is wonderful. Now, another question for you.”

Sam stared at her mutinously.

“What is your greatest fear?”

After the devastation of the false Dean, it was a struggle to give her another way to torture him; the smell of the food was overwhelming though.

“Losing my . . . losing my family.”

She tilted her head. “That isn’t the whole truth, is it?”

Sam snarled. “It is.”

“No, no. I see that guilt. You’re greatest fear is losing them, but losing them because of your actions.”

“Shut up!”

She laughed, tossing the chicken over into the dirt. “Feast, my dear. While it lasts.”

* * *

She returned three more times over the next few weeks. Each time offering a little food and prying out pieces of Sam’s character and reminding him that Dean was gone and that he was alone. And each time, just before she arrived, Sam was thrown into a nightmare.

It wasn’t coincidence, she had some kind of power. But that knowledge wasn’t enough to snap Sam out of a horrifying vision of death and blood and all the things he feared.

This time it was Dean, staring at Sam in shock as the wendigo sliced his throat open. Sam cried out, struggling towards him, but the chain kept him from getting close enough.

“Can’t save everyone, can you? No, you’re the albatross, the death omen for all that you love.”

Lily flickered into view. Sam curled up, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” he croaked.

“You know how the game works.” She drew out an apple. “Ready?”

Sam took a few deep breaths. He needed to focus.

“No, not today,” he said, softly. “How ‘bout we turn the game around?”

A flash of surprise on her face was all that Sam got, but it was enough. She had expected him to be broken by now.

“You want to risk not getting this apple?”

“Oh, no, see, I know how it is. I know why you’re doing this. You, you were weak, weren’t you? Some guy came along, told you that you were pretty, that he loved you, and it was a lie. And you couldn’t handle the truth of how pathetic you are, and so you want to punish others by—“

Lily shrieked in anger, the cavern shaking. “You have no idea who I am, what I have done, how dare you speak to me!”

Sam snorted, shakily pushing himself upright. “Please, sister, your little games are pathetic.”

She was on him, slamming his head back against the rock. Sam tried to fight, but only managed to get kicked in the ribs for his trouble.

“Your insolence has cost you your food. Let’s see if you can make it until my next visit.”

Lily disappeared, leaving Sam to groan at the pain in his head.

He glanced over at the wall. Her tantrum hadn’t been enough to loosen the joint of his shackle, nor had he managed to find a key or anything when he’d frisked her as she’d attacked him.

“That was pointless,” he muttered, gingerly poking at the knot on the back of his head. He sat up.

In the flickering light of the lantern, Sam saw it. His breath came out in short pants, and he dragged himself over to it. The rock was as big as Sam’s hand. With a trembling finger, he touched it, afraid it would be made of dirt and crumble, but it was solid.

Sam dragged it back with him to his place against the wall, examining it carefully. It seemed to be stone, through and through, but there was no way it would break the chain.

No, Sam only had one option.

Sam’s hand, made thinner by the lack of nutrition, was nearly slim enough to slip out of the shackle. Except for his thumb.

It took Sam a few moments to gear himself up. He lifted the rock, hand shaking at the effort.

He slammed the rock down. The shock of pain made him cry out until he bit down on his lower lip, breathing heavily through his nose. He tried pulling back, sure that his bones had to be broken enough to make room, but found a couple in his wrist still keeping him from getting free.

Sam took a moment to curse loudly before taking up the rock again. He had to move fast; the longer he waited, the more his hand would swell and make it impossible to escape.

It hurt worse the second time. Tears flowed freely down Sam’s face as he wrested his hand from the shackle.

Once free, it took him several tries to stand, and when he did, his knees shook with the effort.

Eyes fixed on the faint light of day, Sam stepped forward.

Lily stepped out of the shadows without warning—if Sam had any doubts of her being some kind of witch, they were gone now.

“You will not leave,” she hissed.

In response, Sam lashed out with his good hand. The rock he held was heavy and blunt, but also had a sharp edge on one side. Lily stumbled back, arm held across her bleeding abdomen. Her scream wasn’t of defeat, but of rage. Sam scarcely had time to try and attack again before she had slammed into him, strength far beyond her size bowling him over. She kicked him down, hitting him repeatedly until he was curled around busted ribs and painful bruises.

He could only whimper as she dragged him back and shackled his ankle. He had been so close to outside, to seeing the sun again.

“Rot here for eternity,” Lily snarled, and she was gone.

* * *

Sam’s hand swelled and fever set in. Sometimes he could imagine hearing Dean, but he couldn’t remember how to call out for him anymore. He tried to move, but found his muscles weak and unresponsive. The water . . . the water was too far away. He was so thirsty.

“Sam, baby, hold on.”

Sam closed his eyes, pretending to himself that he could feel Jess’ cool palm on his cheek.

“I miss you,” he whispered.

“I know. Hold on for me.”

“But you’re gone. Because of me.”

Jess coaxed his eyes open, pressing a fingertip against his lips. “No, Sam. Don’t give up.”

She left him shivering in the darkness. Sam lost track of the days, time passing with each painful inhalation. It became harder and harder to breathe, and he couldn’t understand why.

Another hallucination of Dean appeared. Sam responded like he knew he was supposed to, but mostly stayed still, focused on the painful intake of breath and the painful exhale following it. He was moving . . . being moved. Which didn’t make sense. His various injuries were prodded, and Sam tried to pull away.

Dean’s soothing tones washed over him. His brain was kind enough to give him this final peace before his death.

Sam felt denim against his cheek, careful, calloused hands threading through his hair.

Dean was there. Sam wasn’t sure what he babbled, but all he could think was that somehow, miraculously, his brother was there. He wasn’t dying alone.

Everything became a blur; Sam couldn’t see for the bright light, and pressed himself close to Dean, hiding his face in his brother’s jacket. It was harder to breathe, cradled in Dean’s arms. Sam couldn’t focus past the pain. Mercifully, everything faded away.

* * *

Sam hadn’t been saved. He could still feel the chain around his arm.

Lily laughed. “Did you really think you had a chance?”

Sam shuddered. “No, no please.”

“Sam!”

Sam winced his eyes open to see Dean. “Sammy, you’re safe. I’m right here.”

“Dean.” Sam’s inhibitions were shot; his eyes filled.

“Shhh.” Dean hitched himself onto the bed and helped Sam sit up. “Deep breaths, Sammy. You’ve got pneumonia, gotta fill up those lungs with air to keep it from getting worse.”

Sam hit a wall of pain as he inhaled and stopped, coughing weakly.

“Hurts.”

“I know. Hey, did I tell you about the game I saw the other night? It was a rerun, but . . .”

Sam was too exhausted and sick to focus on the words, but the comforting rumble of Dean’s voice acted as a lullaby.

Dean hadn’t left him behind. Sam rested in that knowledge.

* * *

The days were still in a blur. Dean had told him how many days had passed, how long they’d been in the hospital, but Sam couldn’t concentrate enough to keep track himself.

Dean was cautious around him. The relief had worn off a little, leaving both of them fumbling, trying to act like things were normal, even though they weren’t.

“You can leave in the wheelchair,” Dean said. “You don’t have to walk.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re the picture of fine,” Dean muttered. “Sure, just do a cartwheel.”

Sam ignored him, carefully edging himself out until his feet touched the floor.

“Easy, easy.” Dean was hovering, and Sam had to force himself not to get annoyed. He would’ve been just as bad if Dean had been the one to go missing.

The pain had receded to soreness, mostly. Sam did his best to hide his wince, focusing on keeping his balance.

Before Sam’s knees gave out, Dean was there, arm under his shoulders.

“I can do it,” Sam said.

“Yeah, well, whatever.”

Sam swallowed his pride and let Dean steer him out of the hospital. “Where are we going?”

“Pastor Jim’s cabin is a few hours away, and he said we could use it.” Dean finagled him into the car, even keeping a hand on his head to avoid the doorframe. “I figure we could recoup there.”

“Recoup? C’mon, we need to get back out there. Who knows where Dad is right now?” Sam argued.

“Dude, you have a busted hand and ribs. We’re taking it easy.” Dean slammed Sam’s door closed, ending the argument. Sam spent the drive stewing in resentful silence.

* * *

Sam picked at his food. Dusk was falling, and the old lighting didn’t do much to allay the shadows creeping into the room.

“You going to eat?”

Sam jerked out of his thoughts, staring blankly at the mac and cheese Dean had made.

“No, I’m good,” he managed to say. It took him a few tries to stand, coughing weakly as his pneumonia kept him from breathing right.

“We should do some chest PT,” Dean said.

Sam shook his head. “Just gonna go . . . go outside,” he said.

“Okay, let me get my coat.”

“No!”

Sam’s vehemence surprised both of them. The look on Dean’s face was almost that of betrayal.

Sam moderated his tone. “Uh, just need to be alone for a little while,” he said.

He left Dean, taking a breath of the muggy summer evening once he was outside. The sight of the sky calmed him down a little; Sam walked until he reached a small clearing in the woods. The grass was soft, even if it was a little damp.

It wasn’t more than 15 minutes before Dean showed up.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam said irritably.

“Excuse me if I’m a little on edge after you disappearing for 31 days after a simple food run,” Dean said tightly.

Sam sighed, closing his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Dean settled down on the ground next to him. They stared up at the sky together as night fell.

“You wanna talk about it?” Dean offered.

Sam tensed. The best defense was a good offense; he responded by saying, “when I disappeared, did you think I had decided to leave?”

Dean answered sharply, “no.”

The lie was evident. Sam controlled his breathing carefully. “Then no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean cursed under his breath. “Okay, fine. After a little while, I wondered.”

“Then why did you keep on looking?”

Dean turned on to his side, towards Sam. Sam mirrored his movements. “I knew you wouldn’t do that to me.”

Dean’s voice was full of trust, and Sam’s heart clenched in his chest as he remembered visions of Dean dying, all because of Sam.

“You know I wouldn’t . . . if I left, I would tell you.”

“Yeah, kiddo.” Dean reached over, placing his hand over Sam’s cast. “You wanna talk about what happened in there?”

Sam rolled onto his back so he wouldn’t have to look at Dean. “She . . . she mostly left me alone. Days without food and wondering if I would . . . if I would make it.”

“When I found you, you seemed to think that—that it was fake. Did Lilith do that?”

Sam shivered. “Yeah.”

“Did she make me appear and then leave you?”

Sam jerked his head in a nod. His throat felt tight and his eyes were strangely hot.

“Sammy.”

Dean’s voice was as soft as Sam had ever heard it. A sob caught him off guard, and he pressed his fist against his mouth in a belated attempt to stifle it. Dean pulled him close, tucking Sam’s face against his shoulder.

“Let it out, little brother.”

He felt weak by the time he was done crying into his brother’s shoulder. He was an adult, he shouldn’t be so pathetic.

“Let’s go inside. Your cast is gonna get damp from this grass,” Dean said. He pulled Sam up with him.

Sam ducked his face away from Dean’s inspection, ashamed.

“Did I ever tell you the time I caught Dad crying like a little girl?”

Sam blinked. “What?”

“Oh yeah. It was hilarious. Freaked me out at the time because I thought something awful had happened, but you wanna know what it was?”

Sam cleared his throat. “What was it?”

“He had broken his arm, and couldn’t figure out how to change your diaper with only one working hand. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen.”

Sam snorted. “What did he do?”

“He taught me how to change your stinky diapers instead.” Dean grinned, eyes twinkling with mirth. He ruffled Sam’s hair. “How ‘bout you get some sleep?”

Sam gazed apprehensively into the dark interior of the room. “Um, sure. W-what are you gonna do?”

“Same thing as you, bud.”

Jim’s king bed was large enough that Sam could hardly tell that Dean was in the other side. He lay still in the darkness, carefully keeping his breathing quiet so he could hear Dean.

“Giant girl,” Dean muttered, rolling closer and wrapping his hand around Sam’s elbow.

Sam relaxed incrementally.

“Thanks, Dean.”

Dean grunted, but his hand squeezed a little on Sam’s arm. Sam shut his eyes. They’d get through this.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this doesn't even come close to K Hanna Korossy's work but at the very least it made me happy to write more h/c for sam :D Also so much schmoop it isn't even funny lol.
> 
> Update on me: I am way behind on all my writing projects due to job applications and NCLEX studying and a strange lack of inspiration. Very sorry for the slowness, hopefully my brain will kick into gear soon.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think!


End file.
